After They Changed
by caballlah
Summary: Peter and Wanda aren't the same people they once were. But the people they are now have something in common.
So Peter's in Clinton when he sees the Scarlet Witch. It's about 2 AM and he would usually never be out this late, even on patrol—that's more of an evening thing, since even Spider-Man needs to sleep _sometime—_ but Mary Jane needed a ride home, or at least someone sober enough to handle the logistics of transferring her into a taxi bound for home. After, he was washing something he'd rather not think about off his shoes with a handy water fountain when he noticed the girl.

Peter usually didn't make it a point of staring at girls, especially on dark streets late at night because c'mon, but he saw enough to know it was a girl worth staring at. Super-long legs, knee-high boots, stockings up to her thighs with some holes worn through the mesh in a way that made him think of punk rock, and then a skirt, a short skirt, a Zettai Ryouiki skirt—honestly, it made Peter a bit concerned. He was thinking of doing the Spidey thing, just making sure she got home safe, but always wondering how weird _that was_ —pretty weird, right?, because he'd be wearing a gimp suit of sorts, a very colorful gimp suit, but gloves, ski mask, this stuff was not totally reassuring.

Then he got a familiar ping, almost spider-sense, and like he thought far too often around pretty girls, _please don't be Black Cat._ Nope. It was the Scarlet Witch.

Well, he knew Mr. Stark would love to know about that. So he called him. Mr. Stark didn't pick up, of course, so there Peter was, standing in the street, watching as a former terrorist turned Avenger turned… nice terrorist?... walked down the sidewalk. Carrying a big plastic bag stretched taut with Chinese take-out. Swinging it jauntily too. The skirt and the takeout. Why did all the good ones have to be either villains or so perfectly cute and funny and pretty that Peter could not talk to them in a million years unless they came at him with some kind of conversational judo that transformed his awkward anxiety into something endearing (here he was thinking of MJ, who would make a lovely date if the thought of being in a relationship with her didn't drive him toward cardiac arrest)?

He really didn't know what to do. His spider-sense wasn't tingling, so he doubted she was about to throw a car at anyone. And Mr. Stark had been pretty cavalier about enforcing the Accords, or at least calling _him_ in to enforce the Accords. Still, was he just supposed to ignore her? The Scarlet Witch? What if she pulled another Lagos? That would be on him.

He ducked behind a bus stop shelter—fortunately, the streets were deserted this time of night, though he still felt pretty self-conscious changing clothes on the sidewalk. Once he was done, he webbed his clothes into a bundle, parked them under the bench, and jumped up the nearest fire escape. How did you fight a sorceress, anyway? He supposed keep to the Stark Doctrine, keep clear and heckle at long-range. Very World of Warcraft. Still, it seemed… unsporting… or whatever… to just web someone out of nowhere. She was carrying hot food and everything.

And hey, what if it was just someone who looked like her and had really weird late-night cravings? He hadn't even thought of that.

"Uh, hi, excuse me?" She looked up, and even though they'd sorta met, she looked _adroitly_ confused. Black leather. If he'd just dressed in a monochrome bodysuit, maybe a hoodie, no one would give him these looks. Why had he let Tony go all Mark 42 with his new costume? "You're the Scarlet Witch, right? I mean, unless you don't like that name—Wanda Maximoff, though, right?"

Her dubious look grew suspicious, somewhat hostile. She set the takeout down. "Yes…?"

"Oh. Wow. Kinda thought you would say no. Well, uh… am I still arresting you? Err, I mean, are we still fighting?"

"Not really. Would you like to?"

"No, not exactly. You'd probably just reenact the end of Carrie, with me playing the role of the prom. Can't really think of a way around that. But if you're going to cause trouble, I have to try, right?"

"Right. I'm not planning any trouble, though."

Peter nodded to himself. Flipped down a flight of the fire escape, hung from a railing by his toes, the usual. He'd noticed it discombobulated people a little, and since he was pretty discombobulated himself, he figured at least that made them even. "Have to check, you know. I figure I can look the other way if you're just walking, but if you're planning to blow something up…"

She darkened. Peter could see a bit of red on her, like an aura, and his spider-sense sounded distantly. "That's a low blow."

"Oh, yeah, because of Lagos—I didn't mean it that way. Just really any… property damage or maiming, graffiti, lowering the tone in general…"

The red slipped away under her dark clothes. "It's fine. I suppose I deserve it. I was technically a Nazi for little bit."

"Oh, uh, spectacularly misconceived Halloween costume or…?"

"Terrorist network that Pietro thought would get us revenge on capitalist oppressors. I suppose my mistake for trusting group with skull for a logo." She canted her head to the side. "Mr. Spider-you were at airport, yes?"

"Well, yeah. Did I web you? I'm sorry if I webbed you. I know people usually don't like it. Or, you know, they never like it… Gets in their hair, clogs pores… I promise not to do it again, if I did it…"

She smiled and he thought he saw the red for a split-second before he realized it was just her lips. "And what if I liked it? First time for everything, right?"

And why'd he let Tony make his suit so _tight?_ "Well, I mean, I suppose it could be an exfoliant or something… it's organic, nontoxic… doesn't smell too bad, I don't think…"

She laughed. "You are funny guy. I'm sorry we knocked you around. You are just kid."

"Well, I mean it's been a while, I'm nearly sixteen now… saved a subway train, don't know if you read about that, if you subscribe to the Bugle you definitely didn't read about it."

"Would you like some food?" She hoisted the takeout back up. "Problem of being friends with Captain America. Takeout place shoves all-you-can-eat buffet into every order. They treat me like I was at the Battle of New York."

"I was! I mean, for a little bit. I saw the Hulk, once, for a second. I was pretty far off. Didn't see any Chitauri except those big space slug things? Aunt—someone I know saw Black Widow in a hovercar or whatever, I don't know why I said that, forget it."

She gave the bag a rattle, and Styrofoam container squeaked against Styrofoam container. "Are you hungry or not?"

"Yeah. I mean sure. I could eat."

He weblined the fire escape and descended upside-down. He knew he didn't look cool much, he wore a onesie, but he thought he looked least uncool when he was upside-down and doing yoga. Wanda looked appreciative enough, nodding her a head a little impressed, like she was listening to a nice drum solo or something. She handed him a thing of kung pao chicken. He wondered how she knew that was what he wanted. Witchcraft? Or was it just that everyone liked kung pao chicken?

Peter supposed high-tech gloves made it acceptable to treat stir-fry as finger food. "So how'd you get your powers anyway?" he asked, thumbing his mask up over his nose to eat. "Is that impolite to ask? You mentioned Nazis, so was it some Hellboy, Raiders of the Lost Ark thing?" _Stupid, stupid—should've just kept it at Raiders of the Lost Ark…_

"I don't remember," she said. She leaned against the brick façade of the building with the fire escape, winding her shoulders into the masonry. "Just pain. And after, being different. Not being helpless. At the time, I wanted to help my countrymen—all the people who'd been like I'd been, unsafe and not able to do anything for safety. But that was… provincial. All people want to feel safe, whether in Sokovia or… here."

"But you chose it, right? Maybe not the Avengers, but—all the red stuff?" He hemmed his shoulders from side to side, trying to defuse the intrusiveness of the question. "What you wanted?"

"Yes. Didn't you?"

"No. Accident." He wondered how much to tell her. Or, more accurately, he didn't wonder, wondered whether he should be wondering, managed to wonder a little, then stopped wondering. Maybe it was the stockings. Stockings and pirate boots. Looked good enough to be in MJ's wardrobe. "Got bit, but instead of just giving me an itch…" He made a hopefully all-inclusive gesture.

"It gave you a costume of red and blue?" she asked, working on a potsticker, perhaps trying not to appear intrusive herself. But, genius as he was at social situations, he didn't sense idle curiosity at play.

"No. That came later. I mean, can't go around in just a ski mask to fight crime, not with you all serving body like you are. I mean, that first Cap look, maybe I could keep up with that in a really nice sweater, but then he got that darker suit and you really can't dress down if you want to compare to that. Gotta go business formal."

Her lower lip rolled under her teeth, trying to hold in a smile. He hoped she didn't think he would take offense, hearing her laugh at him. He knew he was funny. "I meant that you didn't get your powers for a reason. If you wanted, you could just be a normal person with a… a 'tight body,' as you say. Not to disparage your performance, but it would probably be better for your health."

Her air of amusement didn't transfer to Peter. Her words sounded way too much like how Peter's head sounded when he had to lie to Aunt May, sew up a wound, miss a hang-out with MJ that he just knew would be worth the sweaty palms and possible heart palpitations. "Maybe I didn't get this stuff for a reason, but I have it, so… I can have it for a reason. That makes more sense to me than being able to do things and not doing them. Than having something bad happen and not learning a lesson."

"And you don't think sometimes there is no lesson. No reason. Just mistakes?"

The red flickered again, but not violent, not threatening. It settled over her sadly, like a volley of rain. Peter uncoiled from his stance, righted himself, touched down on the pavement beside her, only then realizing that he didn't know how to approach her as she pulled in on herself, arms wrapped around her like a straitjacket, head pushed down with Atlas's own weight.

"I don't know. I've seen my share of random, crazy, but then… I'm there, right? Whatever bad there is on me, I'm there to stop it from hitting someone else. Maybe that's something like, I don't know, fate or destiny. Or just… not letting something bad stay bad. Making it be something good, just with a bit of a wait."

Wanda's chuckle was trying to sound less forced than it was, but she went back to her potsticker. Peter considered that something of a victory. "How much of a wait?"

"I don't know. Seems to take forever, sometimes."

"My brother died."

"I know."

"I think everyone but me still sees him as HYDRA—something misshapen. But he saved people. They thank me, sometimes. It means more than when it's something I did."

"I, uh… I've watched a little of the news stuff. The in-depth specials? He always seems like someone who just wanted to do right by people."

Wanda nodded. "And he never knew what that was."

"And you?"

Now Wanda shook her head, raising her hands, twisting fingers about her ears. "It's what Steve tells me. It's what I think I can live with. It's what I think when I'm not angry or scared. Does it come easy to you?"

"I just go after bullies." Peter shrugged. "I have a bit of experience in that area."

"Captain Rogers? Was he one of your bullies?"

"What, _Steve Rogers?_ No, no—but sometimes it's people who don't know they're bullies that can hurt you the most."

"And what about Stark? What does he know?"

"Mr. Stark is—" It took the flicker for Peter to realize he was literally seeing red—his words as heated as the glow under Wanda's fingernails. He coughed. "I guess I can't always tell either. Mainly I just stick to guys who are knocking over banks and stuff."

"Sounds simple."

"It gets complicated in a hurry. But at least I'm not fighting anyone in an American flag. Makes me feel unpatriotic. Or at least like I'm in a Rocky movie."

"Rocky—I know this. With the…" She gestured at her jaw. "Caveman?"

Peter laughed. "Yeah. That'd be the one. So hey, thanks for the midnight snack, but I think I'd better go. School night."

"I forget how young you are."

"Look who's talking, college girl."

"One thing more." Wanda gathered up her bag and gave it a spin so the plastic handles pulled taut again. "You seem like a normal guy."

"You're the first person who's ever said that."

"Do you think it would be… weird, or… wrong… to be dating a robot?"

Peter's brow furrowed, accidentally triggering his lenses. "You mean like a cute robot?"

Wanda looked away, lip bitten, flushed with bashfulness. "I suppose…"

"I mean, not cute, but like a Cylon?"

"This too I know," Wanda said with a roll of her eyes. "The blonde, yes?"

"Actually, no, she kinda scares me. But that Lucy Lawless one… I mean, uh, that is… if it seems like the kind of person that you would date if they were human—and it's a person, not something putting together cars or anything—then yeah. Doesn't seem any weirder than dating Flash Thompson."

"Who?"

"Forget it. Wait, you don't… have a thing for Ultron, do you?"

"Goodnight, Mr. Spider. Unless you have question for me…?"

Peter shrugged—it was worth a shot. "How do you get a girl to like you?"

"Just to be yourself, Mr. Spider. Trust me on this."


End file.
